"What's a braille?" Is Apollo's first automatic response. It sounds familiar, and it reminds him of, well, bumps. Why is that? Oh yeah, it's a type of writing. A type of writing for—

Oh.

Oh. Well, okay. He feels like he's swallowing a brick and the guilt shows on his face, not like this man can see it.

"Nevermind, I know what it is." Shit. "Sorry, uh. If you give me a brief idea about what kind of bread you like, maybe I can find it on the shelf?"